Disclaimer:
This post is going to be a bit of a rambling mess, so my apologies ahead of time. Part of it is because I have been very hesitant to blog about a particular topic for many months now, a topic that has loomed large in my life, but one that I wasn’t sure how to approach correctly. I feared coming across as holier-than-thou, or of saying the wrong thing, or of dishonoring the sacred in my fumbling. I have tried to approach this subject with all humility. Please know that I judge absolutely no one for where ever you are in your journey and that by talking about this, I am in no way trying to put myself above anyone or claim any superiority. If anything, I have never felt more humbled in my life since this journey began. Now, onward:
Over my years of writing poetry, I have frequently heard the theory that every poet’s work has an underlying essential theme, a central preoccupation at the heart of their body of work. After years of writing and reflection, I eventually concluded that my own body of work is about a deep longing for home. Many of my poems explore loneliness, isolation, and metaphorical or literal homelessness. However, recently, I have come to understand that my work has never been about the vague concept of home, but rather about a deep longing for God.
About six months ago, after a series of seemingly disparate occurrences, I found myself attending Catholic Mass again, after a near 30-year absence. Entering back into the doors of the Church after such a long time away was fraught with many emotions and memories, as well as both petty and existential fears. At the same time, I found that I felt incredibly safe and untouchable in the presence of the Mass, even though I was shrunk into my pew at the back of the church for many weeks at first, lost in this old/new experience and feeling too vulnerable to risk reaching out to anyone. I didn’t in my heart of hearts believe that I would be rejected or judged, but I had just enough fear of that to keep me isolated.
One day as I was leaving Mass, I saw an official-looking woman standing at a table in the lobby signing people up for something, and I took it as my opportunity to corner her and ask her my many questions: How do I “join” the parish? How to do I get the sacrament of Confession? Can I even legally be here? Is there a Lapsed Catholic support group? Where exactly are the coffee and doughnuts that they keep announcing located? Because I would like coffee and doughnuts, but no one ever says where they bloody are. In a moment of what I used to call kismet, or synchronicity, I was swiftly introduced to a man who happened to be passing by the table (aptly named Michael) who took me under his wing, walked me across the street to the coffee-and-doughnuts location, and didn’t bat an eye when I told him that I had been away from the church for almost thirty years. In fact, nobody he subsequently introduced me to did. I wanted to cry with relief. No one cared. I felt totally accepted and welcomed, but in a quiet, laid-back way, not a creepy, overwhelming, love-bombing way. No one was surprised or shocked, and all anyone said about my long absence from Catholicism was, “Welcome back. Glad you’re here. Have a doughnut.” These parishioners have been the most chill group of people I’ve ever met. I’m still getting used to the fact that I don’t have to jumpily look over my shoulder waiting for someone to condemn me or gaze upon me in horror for my transgression.
Before I go on about my return to the Catholic faith, I want to issue a few admittedly snarky and defensive caveats right off the bat, bullet-pointed for ease of reading:
Yes, I am aware of the scandal, and I am just as horrified and disappointed and shocked and shaken as you are, so you don’t need to send me links. I know.
I am not, in any way, shape, or form, a spokesperson for the faith, an expert on the Catechism, or a spiritual authority, so please don’t come to me of all people with questions. I barely know anything, I am not in a position to advise anyone, and I do not represent the Church, I’m just an idiot who very recently stumbled back into the faith and am trying to figure out the basics again with the help of some classes and hopefully some personal spiritual guidance in the future.
For those of you who may be offended or disappointed, that’s understandable. However, I read all the same books you did and I have explored every spiritual practice from A to Z for thirty years, and Catholicism is still where I landed, so pointing me to the writings of Christopher Hitchens won’t change anything.
For those under the impression that Catholics worship Mary and the saints or idols or whatever, nothing ever changes. I heard that my entire life growing up as a Catholic and the second I returned, all those accusations smacked me in the face again, and it’s been almost nostalgic. There is a distinction between veneration and worship, so if you are confused, please use the interwebs to save me from the boring-ness of having to address this issue over and over again.
Alright, now that all of that’s out of the way: Although I can name some clear experiences that led to me becoming a practicing Catholic again, and I will talk about them in detail on this blog in the near future, exactly why it happened still remains a mystery. But I can say that it began with praying to a God I had abandoned for a long time, with a deep knowing that I would be losing my mother soon, and that I could not handle that loss without the God I had rejected. And I was right. My mother passed away last week, and the agony of grief shakes me like a rabbit in the mouth of lion. I will talk about my mother more in depth in future posts, but for now, I am just trying to get through the intense pain of fresh grief. I am grateful that I was guided to return to Christ when I was, because I need Him now more than ever, and I am thankful for His deep and abiding mercy.
Thank you for reading my long and rather disjointed post. As time passes and I grow in the faith, I will blog more about my journey, the deep connection between Catholicism and the literary and poetic tradition, and my inevitable stumbling and failures on the path. In the meantime, in my fog of grief, I vaguely understand that it is Christmas time. I know that the holidays are hard for many people. May you get through them emotionally intact if that’s the case for you, or, if the holidays bring you joy—I am very happy for you. Until next time, my best to you all.
--Kristen McHenry
So sorry to hear of your loss, but glad you're finding your way back to some kind of wholeness. Just don't stop writing. :)
Just beautiful writing, Kristen--beautiful and profound.